


Warmth

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Other Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-23
Updated: 2006-02-23
Packaged: 2018-08-15 15:58:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8062771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: After a long day, Jon is comforted by his partner. (12/11/2004)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: In my mind, the person telling the story is Trip. For those who prefer your fic "het," feel free to envision the woman of your choice.  


* * *

When I first touch him, his skin is cold, still half-frozen from his trek across the planet below. As the captain, he feels he should be at risk before anyone else. Because of this, he was the first one to explore the inhospitable planet and he was the last to leave. Now, he is chilled through and through.

After he collapses onto his bed with an exhausted groan, I help him lift his feet to the mattress, then peel off his boots and socks and wrap my hands around his feet; sure enough, it feels as if the very bones might be frozen. I tuck his left foot beneath a homemade afghan to keep it warm while I settle his right foot in my lap. I'd set up a basin of soapy water nearby as soon as I heard Phlox had looked him over and released him from sickbay, and now I reach to dip the washcloth into the water.

The warm water cleans him and gives much-needed warmth against his chilled skin. I drag the sudsy cloth over each inch of his foot, then repeat the ritual with his left. I pay special attention to every one of his toes. He makes a strange sound, almost a giggle, but then the giggle turns into an appreciative moan as I lean to blow gently against his skin, warming it with my breath.

I lean down to gently kiss the arch of his foot, my lips barely touching the warm, soap-scented skin. His toes curl and he moans from somewhere deep in his chest. Another kiss to the opposite arch forces another moan, followed by a breathy "Oh, God."

I lift my head and see he's closed his eyes and he's got an expression on his face that could either turn into sleep or passion, depending on what I do next.

Regretfully, I know he needs to sleep. His face is pale, and he's so tired that his eyes are swollen as if he's been crying.

"Relax," I say. "We have plenty of time tomorrow to do whatever we feel like doing." Reluctantly, he nods in agreement and lets his eyes slide nearly closed. "Don't stop," he whispers. "Please."

I can almost see his body ease deeper into the mattress as he goes limp, trusting me completely.

I feel a flood of tenderness for this man, and now I'm intent on putting my lover to sleep for the night. I've brought massage oil, some fancy kind I bought at a street fair the week before Enterprise left earth. I bought it because it smelled like vanilla and spice, like my grandmother's kitchen. I brought it along to keep me from being too homesick.

I pour the oil into my palm, and then blow gently on the little puddle to make sure it's warm enough. Then I inspect the task at hand.

Not many people have seen Jon's bare feet, because he hates the way they look. I don't know why he's self-conscious. They look fine to me.

His nails are clean and clipped straight across; they look very no-nonsense, an obvious afterthought in his grooming. Rough callouses mark the pads of his big toes, but I soothe them with the oil, then rub my hands together and spread the oil, rubbing my palms over the tops of his feet and then reaching to press my fingers against the delicate, sinewy Achilles tendons. I press gently into his skin, making small circles from his heels to the balls of his feet.

When the oil has absorbed into his skin, I glance up to see if he's ok. He's more than ok; in fact, he's very, very close to slumber. He wears a sleepy, half- smile and his eyes are drowsy. When I'm convinced he is warm, that the blood is flowing and the aches have been soothed away, I just prop his feet in my lap and stroke them with gentle, continuous caresses.

"Mmmm," he says, closing his eyes. Then he drifts away.

I sit there for a long time, watching Jon fall deeper into sleep. Eventually, he turns his face away from me and begins to snore. I chuckle quietly and slide from beneath his feet.

I spread the afghan over his lax body, making absolutely sure that the covering is tucked securely around his feet. Before I leave, I indulge in a long look at the sleeping man and find myself smiling serenely.

"Goodnight, Jon," I whisper. Then I turn off the lights and slip out the door.


End file.
